The Life Left Behind
by Neriede
Summary: "What if…" he pauses, trying to find the right words, "What if there is a life after this one? What if we've already lived a hundred lives before this one?" Isa shrugs easily, "I wouldn't know the difference."  Lea/Isa
1. Marks

**Disclaimer**: Do I really have to? You know the drill.

**Pairings: **Lea/Isa

Before we get to the actual fic, I would like to get this out of the way: This is NOT an Axel/Saix fic. This story will not be about Axel or Saix, although I promise that they do turn up for a bit at the end. I should probably say that I will be taking some liberties with Lea and Isa's characters. While I was developing them, I tried to deliberately make sure they weren't just clones of Axel or Saix—I did however try to develop them into people who could've sparked their _birth_.

* * *

><p>Lea pulls a smile to the corners of his mouth, and Isa watches as the small, black triangles on his cheeks rise along with it.<p>

Isa is _not_ happy.

"You got a tattoo?" he says with all the quiet intensity of an expanding balloon about to burst.

"_Tattoos_. Like 'em?"

"No."

There are no adjectives, no adverbs in Isa's response—it is short and honest, which is exactly the way Lea prefers Isa. He stretches his honesty over as few words as possible, keeps it full and intact. If he doesn't feel like telling the truth, he keeps his mouth shut.

Lea's smile only broadens and reveals teeth; Isa's composure twitches slightly as he watches the marks almost touch Lea's eyes.

"I figured you wouldn't," Lea says easily.

"What on earth possessed you to do this?"

Lea gives him a discerning look, "Do you believe in life after this one?"

"You're not answering the question."

Lea laughs, as if Isa has just stated the entire point of this conversation.

"Hold on, I'm getting there."

There is something softer about Lea now, something more earthy and serious about his stature, as if he is about to say something that is as equally romantic as it is ridiculous.

"What if…" he pauses, trying to find the right words, "What if there _is_ a life after this one? What if we've already lived a hundred lives before this one?"

Isa shrugs easily, "I wouldn't know the difference."

"Exactly!" Lea throws his hands up and Isa—who normally isn't fazed by anything—is surprised to find his eyes widening slightly, his eyebrows perking upward at the sight of Lea's intensity.

Lea's words have a strange sort of gravity to them, and Isa is suddenly aware that this is much more than just idle philosophical conversation.

"I just…I want…I don't want who I am _now_ to…" Lea clutches at his chest, as if gripping at the threads in the scarf around his neck will somehow tighten his grip on the threads of his current thought.

Isa observes this scene for a moment. Lea is the exact image of longing—he is a picture of lines that frame the very essence of fear. Isa takes in everything; every curve that captures this boy's fear of disappearing from existence; every angle that denotes his longing for significance, his need for something that marks _his_ life amongst the other thousands he must share this existence with.

Isa watches as Lea silently struggles to explain himself, but he already understands.

As honest as ever, he says, "Well. That's stupid."

And suddenly every line has sharpened its focus, the fear twice as apparent. The hurt sets in and weaves itself into the curve of his spine, wraps itself around the white angles of his clenched knuckles.

Isa doesn't stop, "You should've thought this through better."

"…They're…they're just tattoos…"

But _no_, they aren't because Isa suddenly finds himself very angry, finds a hand making its way to Lea's face. He has the most inexplicable need to make the marks disappear, to cover them up from his sight—and so he does.

His hold on Lea's cheek is steady, and he smoothly brushes his thumb over a single mark, watches as the other boy's breath hitches and then stops completely.

"You need something," it is all Lea can to do to not look away as Isa draws closer, "that goes deeper than mere skin."

A sound traps itself in Lea's throat as Isa covers the second mark with his lips.

"…Isa?"

"To be honest, I'm also a little jealous."

Lea's mind is hazy, and he has trouble hearing the words buzzing against his skin.

"J-jealous?" he tries to laugh easily, but it comes out forced.

"I'm not sure, exactly," Isa pulls back a few inches to gaze at the mark, "I guess I just don't like anything marking you that isn't me."

Isa then spends the next few minutes or so repeatedly trying to kiss the marks off of Lea's face.

Lea doesn't stop him.

* * *

><p>"Do you think my mom knows about us?"<p>

Lea looks across at Isa, who is currently busying himself with a game of footsy under the bed covers.

"Hmm…she's a pretty smart woman. Although I doubt she'd let me sleep over if that was the case. Does it matter?"

Lea tries to not let himself get distracted as Isa entertains himself with the fabric of his night shirt.

"What if she walks in on us? Maybe we shouldn't be in the same bed…you can have the top bunk if you want."

"That's Reno's old bunk, right? Sorry, but I'd rather sleep in your bed."

As if to make his point, Isa wraps an arm around Lea's waist. Lea bites down the urge to point out that his bunk _is_ the top bunk, and has been ever since his brother moved out, but it seems Isa is bent on sharing a bed with him, and the top bunk isn't safe enough for two people.

"But, if she sees us…"

"It's pretty late. She's already asleep. You should get to sleep too—you get cranky during the day when you stay up late."

Lea pouts, "I'll fall asleep when you do."

Even as he says this though, there is a slight hesitance in his voice. Isa takes forever to fall asleep—he's always been more of a night person. More likely than not, Lea will fall asleep long before Isa does.

Lea looks Isa square in the eye, determined, and Isa smiles softly. They remain like this for awhile, looking at each other in comfortable silence before Lea has to make conversation.

"…Isa?"

Lea waits for a sign to continue—Isa doesn't utter a single word, doesn't even seem to move, but there is something in the way Isa looks across the space between them that urges him to continue.

"Promise me you won't change."

It is not a question.

Isa looks at Lea and feels the weight of the boy's words settling within him. They are heavy, insistent, almost physical, like a vice gripped around his heart. He looks at Lea and suddenly realizes that their roles have reversed.

Isa is scared, and because honesty has always been his policy, he knows that Lea can see it in his eyes, because Isa is too authentic, too candid to look away.

Isa doesn't want to make this promise.

One glance into Lea's perceptive gaze and Isa's heart beats painfully hard and then contracts, feels unbearably small. He knows the reason is because it would completely _break_ him if he ever broke a promise to this person, and despite Isa's best intentions, he isn't sure this is a promise he can keep.

He can feel it perched within him, something desperately wanting to burst out of him—something that makes his heart ache against its ribcage prison.

Lea knows it—he remembers, because with Isa honesty and full disclosure are two entirely different things—if Isa doesn't feel like telling the truth, he keeps his mouth shut.

Isa breathes in slowly. They have not lost eye contact, not once, but Isa breaks it now in order to place a kiss on Lea's eyes. Lea's lids flutter closed just before he connects, and he almost wishes that Isa would say something that would hurt a lot worse later on, if only it meant he didn't have to hurt right now.

But only almost.


	2. Undoing

Second chapter in, and we've already got drama. Before you decide to buckle in for the ride, I should be clean with you and say that I never intended this to be a very fluffy story. So, um…sorry if that's what you were expecting. ._.

But! I promise that I've tried very hard to still make a very enjoyable story. It's slated for about six chapters, plus an epilogue, so I hope you'll stick around! :)

* * *

><p>Lea wakes up to find Isa tracing the spider webs of sleep lines on his shoulder, afterimages that the sheets have left on his skin. He notices the frown pulling at the corners of the other boy's face.<p>

Lea chuckles, "They go away eventually, you know."

Isa continues to focus on the lines with an attentiveness that Lea finds intriguing, "I know."

Isa's fingers follow a line until they are resting on Lea's cheek, before he decides to pull his arms into his chest and snuggle close against Lea's frame.

"I have a bad feeling about today."

Lea instinctively wraps his arms around Isa, forming a protective cocoon of warmth.

"How so? Did you see the future while you were tracing my sleep lines? Are you some sort of diviner now?"

Lea giggles at his perceived cleverness, but Isa gives him blunt commentary, "You are such an idiot."

Isa can feel Lea's cheek resting on the crown of his head, feels it lift into a smile, "Maybe I'm a walking prophecy of doom."

"Lea, I'm _serious_."

At the sound of Isa's tone, the joking immediately stops, "Hey, hey…what's with you? Usually _I'm_ the dramatic one."

It's true.

Lea is the more theatrical of the two—he spouts existential philosophy and is more moved by concepts and unanswered questions. The boy is a waking dream.

Isa is supposed to be the straight-forward one, Lea's anchor when he chases an idea too far into the clouds. None of this, "I've got a feeling" business. Even so…

"I just…if we leave the house, something bad is going to happen."

"That's silly. I would never let anything bad happen to you."

"_Lea_."

"Okay, fine. So let's say that today is our last day together. How do you want to spend our final moments?"

Isa pinches his eyes shut, frustration levels mounting because Lea is just _not getting it_.

After a moment of prolonged silence, Isa says softly, "I'd want you to make me pancakes."

* * *

><p>Isa pops his head into the kitchen to find Lea pouring batter into a pan, still clad in his night shirt and boxers.<p>

"You're still not dressed?"

Lea shrugs and rattles the pan a bit, "It's my house. This is what I wear."

He cracks a devilish grin that Isa knows all too well and says, "Watch this."

With a flick of the wrist, the pancake goes flying into the air, landing perfectly on a plate that Lea holds out. Isa rubs a sleepy eye, stifles a yawn, "Impressive."

Lea's smile deepens and he grabs some apples off the counter, throwing them into the air. They roll off his shoulder and he bounces them off his elbow as easily as Isa has seen him flip open a Zippo lighter with just a deft wrist movement.

Not that Lea smokes. He just likes carrying around Zippo lighters.

"I should go pro."

Isa makes no comment and sets his arms and head on the counter, watching as Lea starts slicing the apples.

"You know, like people who juggle flamethrowers and shit?"

"How did we move from apples to flamethrowers?"

The blade hits the cutting board with a slap, and Lea sweeps it across the whole length to push the slices into a bowl, a movement so slick and smooth that Isa has to catch himself from staring wide-eyed. Lea has always had a physical intelligence for these sorts of things. He's up for any stunt so long as it feeds his inner need to prove he's alive.

He skateboards, jumps off second stories, and picks fights whenever he can—the other day he challenged a complete stranger and got his ass handed to him for it. Even though Lea usually wins these sorts of things, Isa can't say he's surprised—it was bound to happen sooner or later, at the rate he was going.

And of course, in true Lea fashion, he somehow managed to _befriend_ the kid after getting the crap beat out of him.

Lea shrugs, a quick tug of the shoulders, "I figure that's how they start—practice with things like apples and then switch to the dangerous stuff for showtime."

He slices through a second apple, the blade smacking against the board once before he is stilled by a particular train of thought. Isa watches the gears turning in Lea's head, watches as his gaze lowers to the knife in his hand, suddenly tenses upright when he realizes what Lea is thinking.

"Don't," is all he needs to say.

Lea's smile is cocky, unaware of the way Isa's spine bristles when he grips the knife tighter, "I bet I could do it. Easy as apples."

Isa can see it coming, the slightest movement that precedes the toss, the glint in Lea's eyes as he commits to the idea. He shouts for Lea to stop, but in a split second he realizes he's timed it wrong.

He's as too early as he is too late—he's caught Lea right in the middle of the most crucial movement, the moment he lets go. Isa's cry is sharp enough to cut through steel, and because it's _Isa_, Lea is caught off guard. Lea turns his head to face him, a movement that ripples down through his shoulder, a subtle wave that causes him to fumble the release.

The knife goes sailing and Isa's heart stops. It feels like the gravity of the room has turned in on itself, as if everything is being pulled into a singular point, as if the knife itself is dragging the very fabric of space along the pathway it traces. There is only enough time for Isa to realize that there _isn't_ any time for him to move.

Then suddenly, like the rush of relief that floods a space when pressure is released, the knife clatters to the floor and the focus of the room snaps back into place like a rubber band. Nobody moves—they both just stand there, staring at the floor and at the space between them.

Isa takes a deep breath, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"It's okay," Lea says quickly, sensing the quiet intensity in Isa's stature, "It didn't hit anything."

He tries to brush the whole thing off, play it cool like he always does. He flushes a smile, trying to superimpose a sense of humor over the atmosphere, stretching the words across the distance without actually saying them—_Ha ha, that was close, isn't this funny?_

"Like hell that matters. You shouldn't have done it in the first place."

Lea can feel the pressure of a thousand knives twisting in his stomach as he senses the pull of the room shifting again, only this time the space between them warps and grows, as if the whole situation were placed under the thick curve of a fisheye lens.

Lea feels the distance pressing against him and desperately pushes through, clings to some level of normalcy, "Just forget it Isa, it's fine. Nothing happened, alright?"

Isa _snaps_, "And you think that had anything to do with _you_? As if luck were some sort of skill?"

"No, I just—"

Lea winces as he hears the pound of a fist against the countertop, "No! Don't you _ever_ do that again!"

The room silences and Lea is paralyzed, completely stripped of any idea of the correct way to proceed. His shoulders tighten as he squashes the urge to reach out and quell the shakes that have quietly seized the boy in front of him, afraid that his touch will only insight a rage worse than his words alone have provoked. But even this internal conflict pales in comparison to realizing that not once during this entire exchanged has Isa looked up at him.

Eyes still downcast, Isa takes ragged breaths through grit teeth, and eventually leaves awkwardly without another word. Lea just stands shell-shocked, unaware that he's stopped breathing. In all the years he's known Isa, he's _never_ seen anything like _this_. He breathes in painfully and can only think of one word to describe what he's just witnessed—

Beserk.

* * *

><p>Lea finds Isa ten minutes later, curled up on the couch, fighting off hiccups amidst a stream of tears. Without a word, he kneels down in front of him and places a gentle hand over Isa's head, a soft kiss on his brow. Isa has to fight back extra tears as Lea slides in next to him, and he doesn't have the heart to tell him that for all Lea's efforts to kiss them away, it's actually having the opposite effect.<p>

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Lea answers these apologies without words, just light kisses, one after another. Isa can hardly take the kindness, the way Lea brushes his thumb over the tears, how he lays a kiss where it matters the most, right beneath the eye. When it's Isa instead of Lea, this is the spot Isa favors—he has no marks for Lea to cover, but the meaning is the same, an act of complete enclosure. It is all Isa can do to blink away the drops that cling to his lashes, to look past the halos of light before he closes his eyes and claims sleep as the alternative to tears.


	3. Separation

This chapter's a little short, but some really important things get established, and as I was splitting the sections up, it just naturally happened that this chapter got a little less content than the others. Maybe I'll make up for it by posting the next chapter a little earlier than usual. ;D

Also, to my ONE reviewer:

I LOVE YOU.

That is all. :')

* * *

><p>Lea knows he has to leave soon—he's put off mentioning it to Isa on purpose. He absentmindedly weaves his fingers through Isa's hair, and sighs as he prepares to say something about it.<p>

He is surprised when Isa speaks up before him, "You have to go, don't you?"

Lea flinches, a little unprepared, "…yeah."

Isa lifts his head off of Lea's chest and the latter has to swallow before he says something stupid, because for all the intent that Isa is projecting, he looks so _damn CUTE._

He clears his throat, gazes elsewhere before the guilt can change his mind, "I should probably get ready."

He sneaks a glance back, but the same intent, longing look awaits him.

"…I really do have to go, you know."

He feels the soft thump of Isa's head dropping back onto his chest, "I know."

"You're…not upset?"

"I am upset."

It takes all of a minute before Lea breaks the comfortable silence again and says, "I promise you, if anything happens to me, I'll kick some ass."

Lea feels fingers curl affectionately into the fabric of his shirt, "You promise?"

Lea sits up and Isa follows suit until he's straddling the other boy, knees flush on either side. He feels warm hands on the sides of his face, leans forward until their foreheads are touching.

"Get it memorized."

* * *

><p>Lea barely remembers untangling himself from Isa. Aside from the way Isa unabashedly held his hand the entire way, and the subsequent blush that crept over his face because of it, Lea can't really remember the last twenty minutes at all (the whole public display of affection bit might've had something to do with that, but that's beside the point).<p>

All Lea can currently focus on is the small of Isa's retreating back as they split ways, and the way an unsettling feeling washes over him, making him want to reach out and pull the other boy back. He can't really explain it—just a gut-feeling, something that hits him like a ton of bricks. For a moment, he can understand how Isa has felt all day, inexplicable, unexplainable.

But in the next moment he is pushing everything down and biting back the words forming in the back of his throat. He shakes himself into a state of resolve, tells himself that it's silly. He turns around and rings the doorbell, reminding himself that he has to focus on the task in front of him. The door opens and he shifts his gaze downward, smiling warmly as the small figure clinging to the door takes a second to realize who he is.

"Mr. Lea!"

Lea suddenly finds himself being assaulted by the small girl, but he's anticipated it, has crouched down so that she ends up jumping into his arms. He uses the momentum to start swinging her in circles as infectious laughter escapes into the air. Then he hoists her up onto his shoulder and carries her inside.

"How's my favorite princess today?"

She giggles and pulls softly at his hair for balance, "I'm great! Because—! Because—! Out of all my babysitters, you're _my_ favorite!"

Lea takes a moment to genuinely smile, "Well, your favorite babysitter wants to know what game we're playing today. Does the princess need a prince again?"

"Naw, that's boring. Today you're a pirate. You have to try and kidnap me!"

Lea feels her hop off his shoulder and take off in a random direction, leaving a trail of hysterical laughter in her wake.

He smirks, amused, "Whatever you say, Kairi."

* * *

><p>It is only by coincidence that the quickest route to Isa's house goes past the castle. Isa can't help but stop and stare up at the ivory gates towering over the entrance. It's only begun to darken outside, and Isa can see the lights of a few rooms here and there. For no reason in particular, other than because he feels like it—and really, this is the reason for pretty much <em>anything<em> he does—Isa counts all the lit windows and gets seven.

There have only ever been seven—small pinpoints of light on the verge of being swallowed by the sheer immensity of the building's dark silhouette. Isa vaguely wonders about the inhabitants of each room and comes to the sad realization that seven lit windows probably means that all the castle's residents are alone, without even the company of each other.

He reminds himself that this is not necessarily true—there isn't any further indication to prove this. Still, he can't shake the unnerving atmosphere that permeates from what is supposed to be the town's symbol of hope, of science and progress. The fact that the castle is much too large for only seven inhabitants in the first place only seems to add to the emptiness that fills the area.

Isa grips the ironwork of the gate and doesn't know why it bothers him so much. He looks up at the vast expanse of stone and feels like he's about to be engulfed.

This isn't the first time Isa has thought about these things. Ever since him and Lea broke into the place, it's been weighing on his mind. Breaking into the place was supposed to be harmless—just a stupid whim of Lea's that he got roped into. But ever since then the place has severely creeped him out.

He grips the bars tighter and suddenly has the urge to do something irrational. Before he can dispel it, he's scaled the gate and jumped over to the other side. He thinks for a moment how uncharacteristic this is of him, can't help but compare this to something Lea might do, but Isa's been acting strange all day anyway.

The trouble is, now that he's climbed over the gate, he can't really think of what to do next. He just stands at the foot of the stairs leading up to the door, staring up at the immense waste of brickwork. He wonders briefly if the reason Ansem never leaves the castle is because the stairs are too much of a hassle to climb.

He mutters to himself, "Well. This is stupid."

He turns around to re-scale the gate, only to have his heart jump at the sound of what he can only assume is one of the castle's guards.

"Hey! You there!"

He instinctively takes off at a run, jumps onto the bars of the gate, and proceeds to haphazardly climb his way up. He hears the heavy shuffle of thick boots and doesn't bother trying to avoid making the metal clang like he did the last time. He wishes he were more graceful at this, wishes that he had Lea's physical prowess instead of two awkward left feet. He can't seem to find his footing for half the climb, and his hands have gone clammy and half numb from the panic.

By the time he reaches the top his arms are about to give out. He vaguely thinks that it wasn't this tiring the first time he went over the gate—then again, he wasn't being chased by a guard. He tries to push through the muscle fatigue—he just needs to hoist himself over the top and he'll be good—but as his arms shake from the effort, his clammy hands get the best of him and he slips.

He hits the ground much sooner than he expects, a sickening crunch of gravel sounding under the weight of his skull. A rush of dizziness presses against the back of his eyes and he can't seem to pick himself back up immediately. A cloud of black starts fuzzing over his vision as he mentally screams at himself to get up, but this only compounds the ache in his head. He can hear footsteps getting closer, hears a gruff voice from somewhere above him.

"Shit."

Isa wishes the guard had something more eloquent to say, because this is the last thing he remembers before passing out.


	4. Turning

_I told you this wasn't going to be fluffy._

But on the bright side, early update, just like I promised! And this chapter's a little longer than usual too. :)

Random, skippable note: I was working on the presumption that 1 munny equals 1 yen, and therefore 100 munny equals roughly 1 American dollar. So, um. Yup. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Isa is vaguely aware of voices somewhere in his vicinity.<p>

"_What was I supposed…passed out…"_

"_...can't risk…should've left him…"_

He knows he should try to pay more attention because it sounds like something that concerns his immediate well-being, but his head feels like it's swimming in jello. He can gather that there are maybe two or three people involved in the conversation, and from what he can understand none of them are as concerned with his welfare as they are with saving face.

"_We can't have him snooping around…"_

The voices are still slipping in and out of his consciousness, like bits of white, crackling noise. With some effort, he strains himself towards a state of coherence.

"_The public wouldn't ta_ke it lightly…_he's in_jured."

"I don't give a damn! He's a li_ability…have to _move him."

The voices fade in and out of clarity, as does Isa's wakefulness. It occurs to him that he should probably say something in his own defense.

"Don't…don't I get a say in this?"

Isa coughs at the dryness in his throat, the only sound in the otherwise palpably silent room. For the first time he tries blinking his eyes open, and for a moment all he sees is bright white before it fades and gives way to three looming faces, each adorned with a distinct version of a horrified look.

Two of the figures are wearing the castle's signature guard uniform. He's quite sure the one with the dreds is the one who apprehended him—he would've remembered if it had been the other guard, who is sporting a rather distinguishable set of scars and an eye patch.

The third figure is dressed plainly in a lab coat, and is the first to break the tension, "How are you feeling?"

The question feels obligatory, not at all sincere. Isa can't help it as a shiver goes up his spine, can't shake the impression that he could reach out to these three and touch nothing, brush aside air instead of flesh. He can't seem to place it—he'd say he gets the sense he's in the presence of ghosts, but even this isn't an accurate enough description.

"I would feel a lot better if I wasn't here."

The figure with the eye patch responds first, "Then you probably shouldn't have been sneaking around, ya' little shit."

His arms are crossed and Isa can tell he's not in a good mood. He makes a quick scan of the room and notes that the door is clear across the room. He considers the fact that it's closed and quite probably locked.

"Are you even planning on letting me go?"

Isa smirks and is pleased to see Mr. Eyepatch's one visible eye twitch.

The man in the coat merely chuckles, "To the point. I like that."

"Can you just scold me already then, so I can go home?"

The man pauses for a second, clearly choosing his words carefully, "See, it's not as simple as that. We, ah…have to make sure…that is…there are certain things we're not really ready to release to the general public, and we have to know what you've seen. A matter of public security, you understand."

Isa's eyes narrow—he doesn't like this. He's pretty sure these three are up to no good.

"…I don't know anything."

The three men trade glances, obviously all thinking the same thing.

The one with the coat wrings his hands, "We can't really be certain of that, now can we?"

It is at this point that Isa realizes they have absolutely no intention of letting him go.

He makes a move to bolt for the door, but before he can even stand up, the two guards have pinned him by the arms and slammed him backwards onto his back.

"Dammit! This just _had_ to happen tonight."

The three men exchange phrases of panic and frustration as they attempt to subdue him—Isa is so busy struggling, kicking, anything he can do to get free that he can barely tell who's saying what anymore. With each line of exchange however, he becomes more and more terrified of the situation.

"What if Ansem finds out?"

"_Fuck_ that. The Superior will be pissed if anything screws up his plans for tonight."

"Won't anyone notice if he goes miss—ow! Little shit kicked me."

"No one will look twice for a no-name like him when the mayor's own _daughter_ goes missing."

And then Isa completely loses it.

"You can't _do that_!"

In all actuality, Isa doesn't give a damn about the mayor's daughter—at this point he doesn't even care about himself. All he can think of is that of all the people the mayor could've hired tonight to look after his kid, it had to be _Lea_.

He hears laughter above him, a hollow cacophony that sinks into his chest and turns to lead.

"Ask us if we have the hearts to care."

This is when everything culminates, all the regret for letting Lea leave the house, and for being completely and utterly useless—he lets all his frustration out with a scream.

"Hold…still…"

"Geez, this kid doesn't give up."

One of the guards takes a moment to unwrap the ascot from around his neck and gag Isa with it; this is when he sees it, glinting in the artificial light of the ceiling fluorescents. Isa doesn't even have the space within him to wonder where the man might've pulled a scalpel from.

"_Give him the damn sedative, or I swear I'll knock him out myself_."

Then it's a flurry of images, of curtains of blonde hair and white lab sleeves as he rocks violently back and forth against their hold. The two guards exert more force and he's flattened again, back straight and arms trapped at his sides. When he feels a pinprick of pain on his forearm, he nearly chokes on the gag.

This is bad, and Isa knows it; he tries to put up more of a struggle, but he can already feel the sedative taking hold of his faculties. The third man reaches out and touches his face, steadies himself for what Isa can only assume is the first incision. His thumb rests right beneath Isa's eye, and suddenly Isa is struggling to hold back tears because this is just wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

"I was in need of a new test subject anyway."

Isa feels the cold steel press right above his left eyebrow, but what terrifies him more is the way the man's thumb presses into him, how he doesn't even realize how _violating _this feels.

In that moment, all Isa can do is send up an apology—

_I'm sorry Lea. I'm so, so sorry._

And then the first slash hits and everything goes red.

* * *

><p>Lea has stopped looking for Kairi.<p>

He knows exactly where she is, so it's not a problem (after all, it really isn't that hard to spot her sneakers peeking out from underneath the curtains). And it's not like he doesn't honestly like playing with her—he just needs a bit of a break, so he's taking advantage of this rare quiet moment.

Currently he's sitting on a plush 500,000 munny sofa, looking outside through the double glass doors and contemplating the fact that a freaking _four-year old_ has an outdoor pool and he doesn't. The house is huge and shaped like a bracket, so it encompasses the pool and Lea can see part of the roof overlooking the water. He has the sudden urge to climb onto the roof and jump into the deep end, but the pool is just far enough for this to be a really stupid idea—it is, however, _just_ close enough to _tempt_ that stupid idea.

Lea debates whether or not to try this for a good two minutes, and is startled out of his thoughts by the sound of glass shattering in another room. He catches a sudden jerk in the curtains and hears a tiny gasp lost in the fabric and cloth.

"Stay here, Kairi."

"But Mr. Lea…"

"_Stay put_."

He slides up and off the couch, shoulders hunched and arms out. Noiselessly, he moves across the room and exits into the parlor, practically gliding through the hall. Here he takes note of the smashed remainders of a vase at the foot of its decorative pedestal. Cautiously he bends down and picks up one of the fragments, turning it in his hands. Perhaps it fell on its own?

Somehow this notion doesn't sit well with Lea, and he turns his attention towards the entrance.

He edges over to the door and examines it—there doesn't seem to be any signs of forced entry. In fact, the lock is still active and in place. Lea knows that this should calm him, but it somehow only disturbs him further.

Then, as if right on cue, he hears Kairi's screams back in the den room. His legs switch to automatic, carrying him back two rooms prior, only to find that the lights have been turned off and he can't see a thing.

"Kairi?"

He doesn't get an immediate answer, which sends his nerves into a panic. He tries flipping the light switch, but the room stays dark.

"Whoever's there, answer me!"

The silence he receives is unnerving—Lea can literally feel the hairs on the nape of his neck prickling straight. He can't even _begin_ to think of how he's going to explain this to the mayor. Cautiously, he ventures forward, only to hit his shin on the couch.

"Sh—!" he stumbles forward and grabs the arm rest of the couch before he can fall over completely , curse cut short as he accidently bites his own tongue.

There is a part of him that feels incredulous, a part of him that can't connect what's happening with reality. Ten minutes ago he was playing hide-and-seek with Kairi. He's supposed to be able to take care of her, and ten minutes ago that had seemed like a relatively easy task. It has never occurred to him that something like _this_ could happen in the span of a few minutes.

Oh dear lord, _Kairi_. Forget how the mayor is going to react—a deep sickness settles into Lea's stomach. How has he let this _happen_? She's only four years old, and god only knows what she's going through at the moment. The worst part is realizing that whoever is responsible is still roaming free somewhere.

As soon as this last thought goes through him, Lea tenses, suddenly very aware of his immediate surroundings. His fingers grip the couch harder, itching for his Frisbees. Slowly, he lets go and turns around.

Lea doesn't even have the time to react when something slams into his chest, knocking him back hard into the couch behind him. His head hits the arm rest on the farther end of the couch, and a thousand curse words instantly spring into Lea's mind, eyes clenching shut. All he can manage with the wind knocked out of him is a garbled outcry outlined with a hiss of pain.

The weight above him feels vaguely human, and he can feel the grip of two hands on his shoulders. He opens his eyes to see blue hair, a familiar mouth pulled into a frown.

"Holy—! Isa, _you_—don't—_oh_…oh _god_…"

And there in the darkness, Lea sees it: a red, jagged 'X' scratched across Isa's face, still fresh.

Lea bites back the bile in his throat, swallows until the air is lodged in his chest—he imagines this is how Isa must have felt when he found out about the tattoos, only a _thousand_ times worse.

He moves to reach up, but finds that Isa has placed more pressure on his shoulders than is comfortable, and finds himself rebounding back into the couch cushions.

"Isa stop, get off."

Lea doesn't know why a deep fear is starting to fill the pit of his stomach—this is _Isa_. He's used to Isa's stares, but they aren't usually this…_intense_. At least, not like this—when Isa looks at him it's with a certain focus, like he's looking at the whole of him, for what he _is_. Now his focus seems farther, like he's trying to look past him instead, trying to search for something. Isa's eyes are steadfast and unblinking, bright despite the darkness, and…and…_yellow_.

Like clockwork, a gear shifts in Lea's mind and hits something, winds backwards until it can do nothing but break. With characteristic abandon, he thrusts his knee upwards until it connects with solid muscle. He feels the grip on his shoulders loosen slightly, just enough to give him the leverage he needs to push the other boy onto the floor. His instincts take over, and he bounds over the back of the couch.

He doesn't even make it five feet before he's hit by an inhuman amount of strength, with what feel like sharp claws digging into his back.

A scream of pure agony punctures its way out of Lea's throat—_definitely _not Isa.

Lea's breathing comes in sharp intervals, "What…_are_…you…"

The silence is the very last thing that Lea remembers.


	5. Remnants

Another early update, mostly because I'm in a really good mood. :D

So, I might have overestimated when I said there'd be six chapters plus an epilogue. The way the last sections are getting split up, it looks like this will be the last chapter before the epilogue, and therefore the next update will be the last one.

Thank you to everyone who has read thus far—I hope you enjoy the rest as well. :)

* * *

><p>The very <em>first<em> thing he remembers is the pain. This isn't particularly useful to him at the moment, partly because the memory isn't all that pleasant, but mostly because he can't seem to remember who he actually _is_.

He tries to remember something, anything, a name.

…Isa?

Is that him?

No, Isa is…important…

Everything seems fuzzy, like the world is on a tilt and he's about to fall off. Images of places and people keep shifting in and out of him, and he can't help but feel like he's seeing them through a telescope, from far away. He knows these are tactile memories—he's felt these memories before, actually _lived_ through them, except…

He hasn't.

He can't quite explain it—he knows these are his memoires, except…they _aren't_.

Certain memories sear through him like pinmissiles. He clutches his head and groans. These are recent, he thinks. He remembers pain, a _lot_ of it…claws digging at his skin, and yellow eyes. There are tears, but he can't remember why. He's not the type to cry over pain—or at least, so far as he can remember.

'_Isa.'_

A thread of pain sews a path through his head, like a needle going through skin. He shuts his eyes and holds his head between fists. Images, pictures of a vague shape fill his mind, a cross of some sort set between two, yellow eyes. He can recall them peering at him from above, and suddenly his shoulders burn from the recollection of being pinned down.

_But this is wrong. Isa doesn't have yellow eyes._

He grits his teeth as the images flood in faster and clearer. This isn't Isa—he can't even remember clearly who Isa is, but he knows it's important that he doesn't forget, and this had most certainly not been Isa.

Or had it?

'_Isa. Isa let go.'_

The ghosts of words dance around the back of his throat, remnants of past pleas. He remembers saying it over and over—it wasn't Isa, so why had he kept calling out his name? It felt wrong but he had done so anyway, because something had registered as Isa, or at least, something _almost_ Isa, just…

_A scar, shaped like an X…_

…missing…

_Bright, amber eyes…_

…something…

_Claws, digging through his chest…_

…important…

_Sinking past skin and bone, past substance and physical being, searching, __**searching**__…_

Oh _god_, he _remembers_. The memory grips him and almost brings him to his knees. He wraps his arms around his chest—he feels so _empty_.

Without prompt, his feet begin to move. He has no inkling as to where he's going, only that he has to find what's been taken from him. All he knows is that he can't be without it, in the sense that he can't actually _be_ without it. It is only through sheer force of will that he can cling to any semblance of corporeal existence.

He sets out onto the streets, only to find himself surrounded by chaos. People are screaming and running, and everywhere he looks his vision is peppered by black masses. The citizens are being run down by what appear to be small, dark creatures, vaguely anthropomorphic, but only in the sense that they walk upright and have two arms and legs. They are far from human looking in any other regard.

Amidst all the incoherent noise, one voice pierces through in his direction. He feels large hands grab him by the shoulders and turn him around, where he is met with the site of a portly man, roughly in his thirties.

"Lea? Oh thank goodness. Where is she?"

The name rings hollow in his ears.

"What? No. No, I'm not—"

"Where's my daughter, Lea? Where's Kairi?"

The man is in hysterics, and won't stop shaking him. His head is swimming.

Isa, Lea, Kairi. Too many names, and not enough information to discern which ones are important.

"I…I'm sorry. I don't know."

The older man does not respond kindly to this. His grip tightens and he seems to enlarge, to bear down with a frightening presence.

"You were supposed to be watching her! I trusted you! How could you—"

This tirade is cut short by a garbled outcry, and with an involuntary jerk the man topples forward, bringing them both crashing to the ground. This is immediately followed by an enveloping blackness and lots of screaming on the older man's part, as dozens of the creatures swarm over them. Then suddenly the screams stop—no resolution, just an abrupt cut of noise. The world is nothing but darkness and yellow lights.

Then like wind over leaves, the darkness disperses, and all that is left is a single, shivering figure curled up amidst memories—nightmares of amber irises and claws. One lone shadow rises from the ground, gives shape to one of the creatures, a shadow made solid. It moves in a slightly erratic manner, perpetually shifting from foot to foot, and picks its way toward the young boy.

A whimper emits from the figure—why can't this all just be a bad dream? He feels something butting against him, and unfurls himself to find yellow eyes staring soullessly at him, causing him to bolt upright into a sitting position. Recent experiences have taught him that misfortune always follows whenever he sees these eyes—he just can't seem to get away from them.

It approaches without a sound and cocks its head left and right in succession, as if sizing him up. Then as quietly has it had appeared, it sinks back into inky black ether.

_It didn't want me. It knows I'm—that I don't have—_

He can't even bring himself to finish that thought. A sudden breeze whips through and he grabs at his arms in an attempt to suppress the chill. All around him the streets are empty and silent—he is the only one left standing, completely and utterly alone.

He finds himself shaking, suddenly frightened of the complete emptiness that surrounds him—it feels too familiar, even though it shouldn't, as if he can't tell where the emptiness of the streets stop and the emptiness in his chest begins. All he knows is that he can't stand to stay in the center of it, so he starts to move.

The sound of his feet against the pavement seems hollow amidst the vacancy, like punctuation adorning an ellipsis. He sucks in the air with each step, running so fast that his lungs begin to burn, a sensation he largely welcomes, as it serves to alleviate the ache in his chest, however slightly.

He needs…validation, substance…he needs to just _move_. Life is warmth, and warmth is kinesthetic, it's _movement_. Step after step, one after the other—he'll get there, surely, if he just…keeps…moving…

* * *

><p>He has no idea how far he's travelled once he finally stops. Just where is <em>here<em> anyway? He inhales and breathes deeply, trying to hold on to the burn in his chest while it lasts. It can't have been too far—he's still somewhere in town. He looks up and sees an expanse of stone, a castle fortified by brick. He feels inexplicably drawn to it, as if he's being sucked in by the sheer oppressiveness that it exudes, the way a tidal wave seems to pull you in by _looming_ over you.

He's so focused on this building that he doesn't even register the person who seems to have materialized in front of him, until it occurs to him that a large shadow has fallen over him. His initial shock is because the person has managed to get extremely close without notice. Afterwards, however, there is something about this person that makes it impossible to look away—he is a dark skinned man, tall and silver haired, certainly the most exotic person to have graced such a reclusive town.

And there are those _eyes_ again.

When he speaks it is as if the earth itself has opened up and begun speaking, "What is your name?"

The voice speaks volumes of power, in a quiet, subdued sort of way.

He hesitates at this, "I…they called me Lea."

The man raises his hands and three letters materialize in front of them, spelling his apparent namesake. With a handwave the letters begin circling, spinning faster and faster until the man thrusts his palm out and stops them. They seem like the same letters, just a little different…

The man looks down at him, "From now on, your name is Axel."

* * *

><p>He has a name now, which is nice. He tries it a few times on his own tongue, trying to see if it fits and feels right. Somehow it still feels a little off, like it leaves a weird aftertaste in his mouth. Then again, he has a feeling that maybe this has nothing to do with the name itself and everything to do with him. He doubts he will ever be able to fit himself completely to a name, and at any rate, "Axel" is better than "nobody".<p>

Okay. Right. Axel. He could get used to it.

Axel takes a look around him. He has been brought to a dimly lit room, devoid of any furniture. They had told him to wait while they figured out where to lodge him, "they" being a rather sour looking man in a lab coat and a man with an eye patch, which strikes Axel as odd. Well, he's seen stranger things today.

Something tells him this is not high on their priority list, and that he'll be waiting in this room for awhile. It probably has something to do with the way the one with the eye patch muttered, "Shit, not another one" on his way out.

Axel's spine straightens as a thought occurs to him—certainly that means there is someone else in this room? He scans around him for a second time, although there really isn't much to look at. It is a pretty large room, and as his eyes sweep across it, they fall upon the farthest corner, where a lonely figure sits curled up, almost invisible in the vast space of emptiness. When he sees this, a jolt of recognition immediately surges through him.

"Isa!"

Axel practically flies over to the corner and drops to his knees. The figure doesn't respond. He has his knees drawn to his chest, and his face hidden behind a mass of limbs. Axel reaches out to unwrap him from this position, but the moment he touches him the boy screams.

If the room had seemed empty before, it certainly doesn't now—the sound is so palpably agonized that it fills every inch of the room. Axel tries to calm him down, but the boy begins lashing out at his outstretched hands, and even after Axel shrinks back he doesn't stop. He smacks his head back against the wall and lets out another shriek. Axel watches as the boy writhes about before him, and for the first time since he's woken up, even though he knows it shouldn't even be possible, he feels something tighten within his chest.

After that, there is no room for doubt or thought—he reaches out a hand, makes his way past flailing, scratching arms, and palms the boy's face. Immediately the screaming ceases. He brushes the area under the boy's eye, feeling tears beneath his fingers.

"It's okay, Isa."

There is a moment where they just look at each other, but he eventually shakes his head, "My name is Saïx."

It is at this point that Axel realizes how _wrong_ all of this is. This is supposed to be a reunion, but it has somehow ended up being an introduction.

He doesn't break his gaze, and his hand remains where it is, "My name is Axel."

And that is all it takes. Axel and Saïx have never met each other before now, but it only takes this one moment for them to realize that they already know each other better than they even know themselves.

Axel pulls Saïx up into his arms, and a familiar sensation washes over them. They can feel the remnants of memories rising up that feel reminiscent of this moment, and perhaps that is the saddest thing about this—because no matter how familiar it feels, this isn't Isa, and he isn't Lea.

But maybe, just for now, they can pretend.


	6. Epilogue

There are no mirrors in Castle Oblivion for a reason, but it is Axel's opinion that he has more reason than the others to avoid his reflection. He's thought about just burning the marks off his face, but something has always stopped him. It's probably because he knows this wouldn't really change anything.

In terms of existential burdens, the memories are a lot worse, because they're not even his, they're _Lea's_. Even so, it's never nice catching his reflection in something and seeing those _damn_ tattoos under his eyes. Lea's need to validate his life had been a nice creed for him to live by, but it has unfortunately come back to bite _Axel_ in the ass.

Something Isa had once said echoes in his ears—

'_I wouldn't know the difference.'_

And see, that's the thing—Axel _does_ know the difference. Lea had been tormented by the idea of change, of the idea of just being a copy of someone else, but at least he hadn't had to deal with the pain of actually _knowing_. All he had wanted was a marker, proof of his particular existence, so he went and put the damn proof on his _face_.

Lea's gotten what he wanted, and Axel is suffering for it, because in the cruelest of ironies, all Axel wants is the exact same thing.

* * *

><p>Axel doesn't trust anybody, hasn't since the moment he first wrapped his arms around Saïx and asked why this all had to happen.<p>

Saïx had spat out only one word vehemently, "Xemnas."

And that was when they'd made a plan and promised each other that they'd do whatever it took to undermine Xemnas and get their old selves back. In the meantime, sure, they'd call him Superior.

But sometimes, Axel wonders if what they're doing is just a means to an end. What if they somehow succeed and get their hearts back? Because honestly? It fucking _scares_ him.

It isn't that the doesn't want a heart, in and of itself, but there is always that one thought lingering in the back of his mind—what if it's not Axel who gets to reap the benefits of all this hard work, but _Lea_? It's _Lea_ who'll wake up, it's _Lea_ who'll just pick up where he left off, and Axel will just fade into nothing, as if he never even existed in the first place.

Which—and at this point, Axel has to clutch at his head because all this thinking in circles has made it hurt—is supposed to technically be already true _anyway._

Axel doesn't think about nobody logic all that much, because he knows that by definition it's full of black holes that will only serve to suck him in if he tries to poke at them. So instead he distances himself from everybody, and just does whatever Saïx tells him to do. It's just easier that way.

As a result, the bulk of his non-existence is filled with chronic back stabbing. This is why it doesn't faze him when Saïx tells him to keep tabs on the new guy. Get close to him, he says. This one's different. Xemnas has plans for him, so it's in their best interest to use the kid for their own purposes before Xemnas can do it himself.

Only, Axel isn't quite sure what he was expecting. He sure as hell wasn't expecting _this_: scrawny as a stick, and only coming up to about his chest. Then again, this is also true of Zexion, but at least Zexion has _presence_. Roxas looks like he as the spine of a puppet on strings.

'_Okay. Be nice to the kid.'_

So he buys the guy an ice cream. To be honest, he's not so sure about this. Axel just sits there, ice cream in hand, staring at it—Roxas too, but for a completely different reason. It's sea-salt flavored, _of course_. He couldn't bring himself to purchase any other flavor.

He's a bit apprehensive. It's just _ice cream_, for heaven's sake, but he only has Lea's memories of the taste to go on. He hasn't actually had one before. He notices Roxas still staring at his ice cream, and Axel gets the serious impression that the kid doesn't actually know he's supposed to eat it.

'_Well, here goes.'_

He makes sure Roxas is watching and casually takes a bite. It tastes exactly as Lea remembers it.

Salty.

Roxas looks back at the ice cream in his hands, eyes it for a second, and then takes the smallest of bites. A smile flirts with the corners of his mouth.

'_Ah. He likes it.'_

Axel laughs nervously. Saïx had said that this guy was different from the others, only now Axel is sure this is a _huge_ understatement. There's something…he's not sure—_weird _about him. Something tells Axel that his usual methods of doing things aren't going to work with this kid.

With the other Organization members, nobody believes Axel for a second when he tells them he's a nice guy. That's the whole _point_. He fakes comradeship only to a certain point, where it looks nice enough if you aren't really paying attention, but any normal person can call bullshit on that cocky smile from a mile away.

This is how Axel works the system, and how he'll dominate the playing field at Castle Oblivion. See, nobody _trusts_ Axel, but that doesn't matter. He doesn't need their trust—he just needs them to think he's on their side. The smiles are supposed to look insincere—it's his way of saying, _See? I'm just as much of a monster as you are._

This is the definition of kinship in the Organization, but Axel can feel it in his gut that this does not, and _will not_ apply to Roxas. He might actually have to earn this kid's trust, or this just isn't going to work.

This is where Axel falters. Friendship is…something he hasn't thought about in the present tense sense of the word. It's something committed only to memory, a whisper in someone else's past. Yet, here he is, sitting with an ice cream in his lap, trying to imitate an image he's only seen in his mind. Is friendship something he can even do? He can't fake it, not with this kid, that's for sure.

He watches Roxas nibble at his ice cream and lets out a sigh. Is this kid mute or something?

"…How does it taste?" he tries to start a conversation, anything, so long as words are involved.

Roxas remains quiet for a moment, and Axel is surprised because he can actually see the kid _seriously_ thinking about it. This is the first sign of intelligent life he's seen in the guy, and now Axel wishes he'd asked something a little more profound.

"...it's really salty."

As far as first words go, they're not the greatest, but Axel's just glad that he finally got Roxas to talk.

"…but," Roxas continues, taking another bite, "it's still sweet, too. I think…"

Axel just looks at him.

'_Alright. Fine. I won't fake it.'_

He takes a bite of his own ice cream.

Ah. Maybe it is sweet after all.

* * *

><p>Axel feels slightly sick after leaving the scene. It's not just that the Sora kid makes him feel a bit uneasy—he likens it to a microphone getting too close to a speaker. The kid fills his head with feedback and the noise makes it hard to think.<p>

But no, it isn't even that.

Killing Vexen should've been…what's the word…satisfying? Liberating?

Axel has pictured this moment thousands of times, and not once did he imagine it feeling like this. Dammit, it's supposed to be payback! It's supposed to be justice, but it feels cheapened, somehow. Axel has to stop and lean against the white walls of Castle Oblivion to keep from literally throwing up.

He had been fine when the point of his chakram slid smoothly between sinew; he had even been fine when the sound of Vexen's spine splitting in half cracked through the air. Axel's really not that squeamish. It was watching Vexen's body slump, watching it break apart into ether and then…

Nothing.

Axel can handle a bloodly corpse—it is the _absence_ of one that makes him shiver.

It's a slap in the face, a reminder of just exactly what he is—or rather, what he isn't.

Axel will never forgive Vexen for what he did to Isa.

But as the bile rises in his throat, he can't help but think it wasn't worth it.

* * *

><p>"You've changed."<p>

Axel stops and just doesn't know what to say to that. He has to fight the urge to turn around and literally throw Saïx across the hall. Just grab him by his shoulders and shove him up against the wall and _just_—

Good god, he doesn't even _know_ what.

He leaves, before Axel has a chance to really lose it. Of all people, Saïx has _no_ right, has absolutely no tact in saying something like that. Axel looks at his hands and finds that they're shaking. It isn't like him to lose composure like this. Granted, he didn't actually _touch_ Saïx, but still, ever since Castle Oblivion and Roxas, he's not quite the smooth operator he once was.

What was the point anymore? Axel's so tired of _pretending_, but he still can't seem to let go of that sense of obligation. He can't shake the image of two, foolish boys when he closes his eyes, of a warm hand against his cheek, the ghost of a kiss on his mouth. He wants to let go already, be able to _move on_, but he can't, not with an image like that burned into his mind. The image just _begs_ to be remembered, it commands to become real again; the imprints of Isa and Lea are like suffocating chains.

To this day, the memory of Saïx, scared and still newborn, is still the one thing that can make his chest tighten in a way that it shouldn't. But now when he looks at Saïx, he only sees a person consumed with revenge. All Isa could see was Lea—all Saïx sees is Xemnas.

Axel clenches his fists in an attempt to calm them.

'_**You're**__ the one who changed.'_

* * *

><p>Roxas looks straight at Axel, causing the latter's cheeks to tint red. This is because he knows exactly what Roxas is looking at, and Axel wishes he'd stop. He defensively turns away and scratches at his face, shielding himself from Roxas' view.<p>

Roxas remains curious, almost obliviously so, "…how'd you get them?"

Axel looks back at the boy and sees unblinking blue eyes, honest and full.

"I didn't really…I mean, well…they're from back then."

"Oh." Roxas says, understanding.

There is an awkward quiet as they chew on their ice cream.

After awhile, Roxas ventures carefully, "So, um…"

He doesn't actually ask it, but Axel can practically hear the question in the subtext.

"I don't really like to talk about it," he says simply.

Axel can see a hint of disappointment in Roxas' eyes, but is relieved to see that he isn't feeling too hurt about it. He merely nods and chews a bit on the end of the stick that's poking through the top of his ice cream.

"I wish I could remember stuff from my old life."

"Hmm. You're better off without it. It was never yours to begin with," Axel surprise himself with how _honest_ that statement is.

And suddenly, it's like a weight being lifted off his shoulders. The thought connects, and it's as if the world's turned in on itself.

"It's just hard, you know? Thinking about the old life," the words are coming easier now, "Half the time I can't even tell if this is what I want or what _Lea_ wants."

Axel lifts a hand to his face, lightly brushing where he knows the marks are, even though they aren't within his sight. It is amazing how something so small can affect him so deeply, a mark he carries without seeing, only merely feeling and knowing that it's there.

But then he feels Roxas' hand on his own and almost jumps, partly because it's so sudden, and partly because it occurs to him that he actually doesn't mind the contact.

Roxas smiles softly, carefully lowers the hand away from Axel's face, "I like you just the way you are."

That's all it takes. Roxas just somehow knows the right thing to say, and the right way to say it.

Axel smiles, almost lost for words, save for, "Thanks. I'll remember that."

* * *

><p>Whooo! It's finished!<p>

This is the longest story I've ever written, and I must say, I'm pretty proud of it. :'3

Thank you for reading it—I hope you found some enjoyment in it. Of course, I'm thankful if people just read my story, but I really hope you leave a review! I like to know what people think about my stories, so anything you have to say—praises, criticisms, flames, anything! Please send them my way! :)


End file.
